


first ship outta Sirion

by starlightwalking



Series: in the midst of the innumerable stars [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen, Gil-galad Son of Plothole, background russingon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Gil-galad wants to be part of the action, not cooped up on the supposedly-safe planet of Sirion.





	first ship outta Sirion

**Author's Note:**

> For a make-me-choose prompt on tumblr! anonymous asked: "Fingolfin or Gil-galad. Russingon or Silvergifting. Modern AU or Space AU." I picked both Fingolfin and Gil-galad, Russingon, and Space AU.
> 
> Set right before Fingolfin's final confrontation with Melkor, and in the same universe as [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17995718/chapters/42511784).
> 
> ("Gil-galad son of plothole" is not my original creation, I saw somebody, idr who, using it on tumblr and thought it was genius so I stole it.)

Gil-galad breathed out a sigh of relief as he heard the footsteps disappear deeper into the ship. Confident that Fingolfin and the others were gone, he snuck out of his hiding place and turned toward the soldier’s quarters.

“Artanáro,” said a sharp voice. Gil froze.

Damnit.  _Damnit_. He was in no end of trouble now.

His shoulders slumped. “Hello, your Majesty.”

“You can address me by name,” Fingolfin said tiredly. “I’m your grandfather.”

 _Are you?_  Gil snapped back in his mind, but he didn’t dare let that accusation slip.

Fingolfin sighed.“Turn around, lad.”

Gil turned to face his father’s father. Even dressed in combat gear, Fingolfin looked more regal than anyone in the room. Not that it was a challenge to look more regal than Gil. For all he was supposedly the “Scion of Kings,” he’d never felt very royal.

“What are you doing here?” Fingolfin demanded. “I thought you were supposed to be on Sirion.”

“I wanted to fight, your M…I mean, Ñolofinwë.” Gil hung his head. “It’s not fair that I’m stuck planetside while everyone else gets to face off against Morgoth.”

“You are but a child,” Fingolfin dismissed.

Gil bristled. He was nearly a hundred years old, an adult by anyone’s measure! Anyone but his family, that was. He didn’t bother to fight that point; he knew it would get him nowhere.

“I can fly a ship,” he pointed out. “I get that from your side of the family.”

“Yes, and what does your father think of this?” Fingolfin shot back.

Gil jutted his chin out. “He would be proud of me.”

“Findekáno told me he wanted you  _safe_ —”

“I didn’t say Fingon.”

Fingolfin stared.

Valar fucking  _damnit_! Why had he said that?!

“You mean…Russandol,” Fingolfin murmured.

“He’s just as much my father as Fingon,” Gil said, hoping his voice wasn’t trembling as much as his hands. “They raised me. Together. Fingon sent me to Sirion, but Maedhros—he wants me to be safe, too, but he gets it. He knows why I have to do this. He did the same thing. And Fingon will come around. He loves me almost as much as he loves Maedhros.”

Fingolfin’s face was ashy. “They…I knew they were close…”

Seeing the High King so off-balance was so unsettling that Gil couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut, not once it was opened. “Maybe you should talk to your son about this, not me, his foster kid. I know he’s not my real father. He doesn’t have a wife. You gave me to him as a baby—whose kid  _am_ I, Ñolofinwë? Am I—” His voice caught. “Am I  _yours_?”

In response, Fingolfin unsheathed his lightsaber. Gil thought for sure that he’d fucked up beyond repair, that he was dead or disowned or doomed—but instead of attacking, Fingolfin offered him the blade.

Shocked, Gil took it. “Wh…huh?”

“This blade belonged to your grandfather,” Fingolfin said.

“But…your lightsaber was…Finwë’s,” Gil-galad said weakly. Oh, by the Valar. He was  _right_ , wasn’t he? Fingon wasn’t his father—he’d known that for years, but—Fingon was his  _brother_?

“Come, Artanáro. Sit down.” Fingolfin took the blade and guided him to a small, private room deeper in the ship.

“You’re my father.” Gil stared up at him, unable to process what he was saying. “You…No wonder you call me by my Quenya name. My father-name.”

“No,” Fingolfin said, staring into his eyes. “Artanáro is not your ataressë.”

“But…”

“It is your amilessë.”

Gil opened his mouth. “I don’t understand. My…my mother is a Sinda. I have Sindar features, and they can’t come from your side…”

“Your  _father_ is a Sinda,” Fingolfin explained. “He gave you the name Gil-galad. Your mother is the Noldo, and yes, your grandfather is Finwë. Your mother is—”

“Lalwen,” Gil breathed. Lalwen. He’d never imagined  _she_  was his claim to royalty. She lived— _she lived on Sirion_. Fingon hadn’t just been sending him away to keep him safe, he’d been sending him to his  _mother_.

“Yes.” Fingolfin laid a gentle hand on Gil’s arm. “I am your uncle, not your father, not your grandfather. You are the third generation of the Finwëans, cousin to my sons. Cousin to Fëanáro’s sons.”

“Why…” Gil’s voice broke. Ever since he’d figured out that Fingon and Maedhros weren’t his blood fathers, he’d battled between the two possibilities: that he had not been wanted, or that his parents were dead. “Why did she not raise me?”

“Lalwendë is…” Fingolfin pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is complicated. Lalwendë, my dear sister, is not married.”

Gil frowned. He knew such situations existed; his own fathers were not married for a variety of reasons. But…he was an accident? He was a mistake?

“She loved you, very much, but she could not keep you,” Fingolfin said. “She and your father are—well, they are together, but they must hide their relationship. It is a secret to all but family.”

“Like Fingon and…” Gil trailed off as he saw that haunted look behind Fingolfin’s eyes reappear. “Well. I guess that’s a secret to some family, too. Just like I am.”

“It is not politically wise for a child of Finwë to wed a prominent Sindar leader, no matter the peace Lalwendë and Círdan have found together,” Fingolfin said. “It is bad enough to Thingol that Arafinwë married his niece! He would cut off his alliance with Sirion if he knew Círdan loved Lalwendë.”

“Círdan?” Gil burst into tears. He had a  _father_! He had a  _mother_! Maedhros and Fingon would always be his fathers, but knowing who created him meant  _so much._

“You were—not an accident,” Fingolfin continued. “You were…a surprise. Lalwendë did not want to part with you, but I convinced her that Findekáno could care for you well. I would have raised you myself, were it not too obvious you weren’t mine. I have a wife in Aman; Findekáno did not. It is better for there to be a rumor that a Noldo prince has taken some anonymous Sinda as his mistress than that the High King has broken his marriage vows. If I could have sent you to Turukáno’s secret city…but I have not heard from he or Írissë since they left.”

“I am—Gil-galad Lalwenion,” Gil wept. “Gil-galad Círdanion. I really  _am_ the scion of kings.”

“Oh, Artanáro,” Fingolfin murmured, embracing his nephew. “I am sorry you ever doubted your place among our family. But you understand now why Findekáno sent you to Sirion, yes? He and—and your other father…they must battle the Enemy. He will not fall in this battle or the next; you will join us in your time. For now you must go to Sirion, and meet your parents.”

“I’m sorry,” Gil said, wiping away his tears. “For—being so rash and rude.”

“You are forgiven,” Fingolfin assured.

Gil stood. “Can you spare a small ship for me to take back to Sirion? I…I want to meet my mother and father.”

“Of course,” Fingolfin agreed. “I hope the next time we meet will be on a better occasion. A victory feast in Dor-lómin, perhaps, with the whole family present.”

“Even Maedhros?” Gil challenged.

Fingolfin went still, his expression pained. “I…”

“Don’t be hard on Fingon,” Gil pleaded. “You understand why your sister has to keep her love a secret. It’s not much different for your son.”

Fingolfin bowed his head. “I love my son,” he said. “I even love my nephew—Russandol, I mean, not you. Though I do love you, Artanáro. I will speak with them both, after this battle is over. Now go—may your journey be safe.”

“And yours as well,” Gil-galad replied. He paused before leaving. “Ñolofinwë?”

“Yes?”

“If—and I hope it will not be so—but if I were ever to be a, a king, I hope I could be a king like you.”

Fingolfin smiled. “That means more than you know, Gil-galad. Thank you.”

Gil gave Fingolfin a quick, fierce embrace, then left.

He never saw his uncle again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com). (At time of posting my url is actually @aroziraphale but that's temporary, lol, and I've got a redirect page up.)


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